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⢸
⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣶⣄ GOOD SURVIVOR
⢿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣄
⠀⠹⣿⣧⣀⣠⣴⣾⣷⣿⣷⠾⢷⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡷
⠀⠀⠈⢿⡿⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⡟
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣾⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠙⠿⡿⢆⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠹⣷⣤⣤⣄⣀⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣉⣉⣉⣙⣁⣀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⢏⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣷⠈⠉⠙⠛⢻⣭⣷
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣷
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡏
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⡿⠇⠻⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣵⣄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢾⣻⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠸⣽⣻⠃⣿⡿⠋⣉⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡟⠉⡉⢻⣿⡌⣿⣳⡥⠀
⠀⢜⣳⡟⢸⣿⣷⣄⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⣠⣼⣿⣇⢸⢧⢣⠀
⠀⠨⢳⠇⣸⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡟⢆⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠀⣾⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⠐⠈⠀⠀
⠀⢀⣀⣼⣷⣭⣛⣯⡝⠿⢿⣛⣋⣤⣤⣀⣉⣛⣻⡿⢟⣵⣟⣯⣶⣿⣄⡀⠀
⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣾⣶⣶⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣧
⬛⬛🟨⬛⬛
🟨⬛🟨🟨⬛
⬛🟩🟩🟩⬛
🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
While you were installing AAA titles, I was memorising BPMs.
While you were touching grass, I was touching buttons with frame-perfect accuracy.
My hands don’t shake — they vibrate at 240 BPM.
I hear the song once and immediately know the chart, the gimmicks, the exact spot where the mapper decided to be evil.
My muscle memory is stronger than my social skills.
My posture is ruined but my timing is immaculate.
I walk past an arcade and my soul leaves my body.
The lights call to me.
The buttons whisper, “one more credit.”
Doctors say I need rest.
I say I need EXPERT+.
Miss once? Tragic.
Full combo? Spiritual experience.
Perfect run? I ascend and briefly understand the meaning of life.
Arcade rhythm games aren’t a hobby.
They’re a lifestyle.
A curse.
A blessing.
Anyway, see you at the machine.
Bring coins.
And don’t stand too close — I play aggressively.